


like the storm-tossed sea

by KelpietheThundergod



Series: Fic for Dean's Birthday [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (in flashbacks) - Freeform, Aftermath of Possession, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon divergent after s14e14: Ouroboros, Canon divergent after s15e18: Despair, Dean Winchester-centric, Dean's Michael Trauma, Disabled Character stays disabled, Disabled Dean Winchester, Epilepsy, Established Relationship, F/M, Found Family, Fuck the CW, Healing from trauma, Hunter Network, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near Death Experience, No Gay Panic, No Smut, Non-Consensual Touching, Panic Attacks, Separation Anxiety, Touch-Starved Dean Winchester, near-drowning, no internalized homophobia, spn said destiel and saileen rights, technically a finale fix-it but that's not really the focus, themes of sexual assault explored through angelic possession, warnings for:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28962216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod/pseuds/KelpietheThundergod
Summary: It’s okay during the day—well no, it’s not okay. Sam will clap Dean on the back or shoulder, Jack will brush against his arm when they’re standing side by side at the stove. And what used to feel so normal—good even—will feel like too much to handle.Eileen and Sam will hold hands or give each other cheek kisses, and Dean will have to bear feeling so happy for his brother and yet so jealous at the same time. That’s just it, during the day, Dean’s distracted and has reason to keep a tight lid on his crap. But at night—He keeps himself awake until he absolutely can’t keep his eyes open anymore. Then he lies alone in his bed in the dark, and themonstercomes—like a hermit crab, it tries to claw its way out of its shell, out ofhim.It knows nothing but want, and fear of what it wants.Unable to stand it, Dean’s fingers will curl into the sheets and his heart will race and his throat will feel like there’s a scream lodged in it. Not even his old trick with the hot water bottle can lull his body into believing it's not alone. It’s not working anymore, not since his body got a taste of the real deal. Not since he’s been hugged and kissed and his hand has been held.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Series: Fic for Dean's Birthday [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124252
Comments: 56
Kudos: 258





	like the storm-tossed sea

  
  


_But the wicked are like the storm-tossed sea,_

_For it cannot rest,_

_Its waters cast up creeping things and mire._

_There is no peace for the wicked, says my God._

  
  


When Sam brings it up and Dean makes vague excuses that he doesn't even remember later, Sam just nods like it makes perfect sense. "Of course, Dean. There’s no rush, I mean, the beach isn't going anywhere. To be honest, I'd much rather finish setting up our hunting network first now that we actually have time for it. Eileen wants to help too and we have so many ideas, I'm really excited." 

Sam is glowing with it, his smile honest and his eyes shining. Dean is so proud of him, and he wants to hug him—Sam still folds himself into Dean's arms when they hug even though he's taller, briefly becoming a kid again. 

Instead, Dean settles for clinking his beer bottle against Sam’s, “Prouda ya, Sammy.” 

Sam rolls his eyes, but when he turns his head Dean can see his smile. 

“How about you?” Sam asks, like he has no idea about how that’s Dean’s least favorite topic. “How are things going? I’ve been so busy, I feel like we haven’t really talked in weeks.”

Dean shrugs and worries at the label of his Margiekugel. The glue is strong, he only ever succeeds in stripping off tiny little pieces.

“Ain’t like I got much to tell. ‘S been nice to just kick back to be honest.”

“Yeah.” Sam’s tone softens. “And... with Cas?”

A painful, electric shiver of panic zips through Dean. He can feel his face heat, and Sam must mistake his shame for embarrassment because he huffs out a breath of laughter.

“I’m really happy for you, Dean,” he says, and Dean just nods. There’s a ping as Sam receives an email, and he goes back to whatever he was doing with his laptop and his files, and Dean realizes he has ripped another stripe off the label without noticing.

The bunker is much livelier again but there’s also more boundaries—the living quarters and the kitchen are off limits. Everyone who comes in is allowed access to the war room, the library, and the infirmary. Dean had expected it to still irritate him—he’s protective and maybe a little bit territorial when it comes to his home—but hunters rarely get homes, and it does feel good to help shelter people. And even though Dean keeps himself to the sidelines and leaves the leading and organizing to Sam and Eileen, he’s still kept nicely busy—there’s always someone who shows up injured, or hungry, or in need of advice with a case. 

Or with car trouble.

“Really sorry for botherin’ you,” the guy—Cal?—says for like the third time. Dean had been chopping onions in the kitchen when Cal knocked on the doorframe and asked for help with his truck. Apparently, Sam had sent him straight to Dean, and if Cal’s skittish attitude and the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot were anything to go by, he’d rather have gotten no help at all.

Dean doesn’t fucking care about what crawled up the guy’s butt and died though. There’s a job to be done—a job Dean can still do just fine, thank you very much—and he’s damn well gonna do it.

“If it’s too much work, you can just—”

Bent over the open hood, his hands greasy and busy, Dean bites back his irritation and just keeps going. He’s pretty sure he knows what’s wrong—with the truck at least. After another minute of Cal hovering from a safe distance away like he thinks Dean’s either going to collapse or explode, Dean puts everything back into place and then motions for him to turn the key.

The engine starts instantly, purring healthily instead of sputtering and dying.

“Oh—wow, um. Thanks, uh—thanks.”

Dean shrugs. “No big deal.” He shuts the hood and tries to get the grease off of his hands with the already grease-stained rag. It’s not working. He’s going to need soap, he—

Still avoiding Dean’s eyes, Cal says, in a weird tone like he doesn’t want to but feels like he has to, “Sorry, man, it’s just.” He motions at his own face and then at Dean. “I still see—”

Dean's fingers clench in the rag. He has to force his hands to keep moving like there's nothing amiss; rubbing the rag over them and the dirt even deeper into his skin.

"Just for the record though," Cal continues, either encouraged or made uncomfortable by Dean's silence. "I don't believe in what Kit and Valerie were sprouting. Obviously Mi—, uh, _he_ is gone, so. Just gotta get used to it. Right?"

Dean rubs the rag over his knuckles hard, even though he desperately wants to throw it away and scrub his hands clean. 

"Right."

Cal nods, "Right. Anyway, thanks again. I'm just gonna—" He motions at his truck, not looking at Dean at all anymore. He gets behind the wheel, gives Dean an awkward thumbs up when the engine starts, and drives off. 

When Dean throws the rag away, his hands are shaking. He scrubs them in the sink until he notices his nail beds have started bleeding. Then he takes a shower so scalding hot his skin hurts when he puts on clothes again, like a bruise that’s refusing to fade.

It’s okay during the day—well no, it’s not okay. Sam will clap Dean on the back or shoulder, Jack will brush against his arm when they’re standing side by side at the stove. And what used to feel so normal—good even—will feel like too much to handle. 

Eileen and Sam will hold hands or give each other cheek kisses, and Dean will have to bear feeling so happy for his brother and yet so jealous at the same time. That’s just it, during the day, Dean’s distracted and has reason to keep a tight lid on his crap. But at night—

He keeps himself awake until he absolutely can’t keep his eyes open anymore. Then he lies alone in his bed in the dark, and the _monster_ comes—like a hermit crab, it tries to claw its way out of its shell, out of _him._ It knows nothing but want, and fear of what it wants. 

Unable to stand it, Dean’s fingers will curl into the sheets and his heart will race and his throat will feel like there’s a scream lodged in it. Not even his old trick with the hot water bottle can lull his body into believing it's not alone. It’s not working anymore, not since his body got a taste of the real deal. Not since he’s been hugged and kissed and his hand has been held. 

At some point, the _monster_ will give up and crawl back inside Dean, let him fall asleep—but then show Dean its memories in his dreams. Memories of Dean’s body moving on its own. Walking around—dressed up fancy like a doll. People looking into his eyes, not realizing that it’s not Dean who’s staring back. Hands, hands reaching for him, caressing his shoulders, his back— _“You’re so funny. What a nice surprise, meeting you. I bet you were wondering what I was doing, all by myself in that bar tonight.”_ Fingers, caressing the back of his neck and the short hairs there with intent—

Dean gasps awake. He sits up so fast he gets dizzy, pushes the covers away, far away. He shudders, pants, feels the phantom touches like a brand on his skin. His tee is sticking to his back with sweat. When he shifts, he realizes he’s half-hard. 

He’s going to throw up—he scrambles off the bed, hangs his head over the sink and dry-heaves. Nothing comes up but spit. He gags, forces it out. The sink is cold as ice but it’s the only solid thing he’s got to hold onto. Sinking to his knees, he leans his sweaty forehead against it. When he feels like he can walk without collapsing, he makes his way down the hall and takes another shower—first cold, then scalding hot. He just stands under the spray, eyes closed. Even when he dries off, he makes sure not to touch his skin directly even once. 

With the mirror fogged up, his reflection is nothing but a flesh colored smudge. He dresses in layers, and his layers dress in layers too.

It's Tuesday, which means movie night, which means another good-bad thing that Dean just has to get through. He never went back to sleep last night and instead browsed vintage car forums until it was finally time to get up. So maybe he'll just fall asleep ten minutes into the movie and that'll be that.

He's making popcorn on autopilot, eyes burning with fatigue, when suddenly Cas appears at his side and puts a hand on Dean's back. Pretending to be overly startled, Dean shifts away from the touch, then turns towards Cas and offers him a smile. 

"Hey, what's up?" Dean hasn't seen much of Cas—he's still busy with whatever super secret thing he and Jack are up to in heaven. Cas has sworn that they'll return once they're done, and Dean still doesn't like it but at least it has made this whole thing—the hiding—easier. 

Cas is smiling too but it fades when he gets a good look at Dean. 

"Dean, have you been letting yourself rest enough?" He asks, clearly worried, and reaches out to gently stroke the skin under Dean's eye with a thumb.

It's the first time anyone's touched Dean in days, and it's so _good,_ so warm and tender. Dean has been needing it so much—and instantly, the _monster_ tries to rise up. Instantly, Dean craves more, _more._

Instantly, his skin prickles—dirty, it’s _dirty._

Sucking in a breath, Dean takes a step back, dislodging Cas's hand. The touch is gone and he wants to scream. To cry.

"Sorry, I—" His shoulders up at his ears, his body tense all over, Dean licks his lips and fumbles for an excuse but none comes.

Cas shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry. You said you needed more time before you were ready and to give you some space, I should respect that. I forgot for a moment but it won't happen again, I promise." 

Cas is so earnest and apologetic about it that now guilt joins the shame party that's making Dean's guts feel heavy and sour. _It won't happen again._ No more nice touches. Not again.

"It's okay, Cas."

Turning around and starting to rummage through a cupboard that he doesn't need anything out of, Dean somehow manages to keep his voice cheery—"What're we watching again?"—even as he's blinking away tears.

It's twenty minutes into the movie and Dean has already forgotten what it's supposed to be about. He's sitting in one of the armchairs, Cas in the one next to him. Jack is sitting on a pillow on the floor between them because he's a weirdo—which is probably a given considering who raised him.

The loveseat actually used to be Cas and Dean's spot—for a while, anyway—but now Sam and Eileen are curled up in it. Sam has his arm around her and she's tucked into his side. In the corner of his vision, Dean can see her sign something to Sam and he smiles and presses a kiss to her temple. 

Beside Dean, Cas is munching on some popcorn. He's so far away Dean can't even feel his body heat. 

Taking a sip of his beer to try and get rid of the lump in his throat, Dean attempts to focus on the movie. The last thing he remembers is some kind of action scene with cars, but now suddenly there's a tearful reunion between lovers. They're holding each other and then they’re kissing each other, and then suddenly Dean realizes he's halfway out of the room.

"Gonna go get more beer," he mumbles, even though there's a cooler in the Cave and he hasn't even finished his first one. He just—he just needs a moment to get a grip. 

There's nothing to do in the kitchen, because they already washed and dried the dishes after dinner. Dean stands in front of the stove helplessly for a good minute until he remembers that Jack likes hot chocolate. Dean can make him that! Hot chocolate goes great with popcorn. And by the time it's ready, Dean will have his shit together again and be able to enjoy some quality time with his family. 

He selects a mug—the orange and brown vintage one that Jack got at a flea market that he went to with Cas and that Dean thinks is uglier than all of Sam's shirts combined but Jack loves the stupid thing. When the milk is ready, he stirs the powder into it until it's all nice and creamy, and then turns the stove off.

Dean's already poured it into the mug and is looking for the mini marshmallows when he feels it coming. 

Not wasting his breath on swearing even though he hates that this is happening now when they're supposed to be having carefree family time, he quickly sinks to the floor. The sensor wristband is sitting securely on his arm, so the others should get an alert and a location on their phones in a few seconds. Dean manages to shove a dish towel under his head and then the world disappears and is replaced by painfully flashing lights.

Some indeterminate amount of time later, Dean becomes aware of Cas's voice. "Dean? Dean, can you hear me?"

People are touching him and he doesn't want them to but for some reason he’s really weak—he tries to bat them away but his limbs barely move.

"It's okay, it's alright, take your time."

The hands go away. Dean wants to open his eyes, wants to speak, but only manages a weak groan. Everything hurts. He's so tired.

The ground seems to shake as someone gets up and walks away. Dean can open his eyes now, but it takes another moment for them to focus. He’s lying in the recovery position and his head is pillowed on something soft. Eileen comes into view.

“Can I help you up?”

Dean nods, and then he’s gently lifted up by the armpits and helped to lean against the stove with his back. 

Cas comes back. He crouches down beside him and searches his eyes. “Dean, you had a seizure in the kitchen. I’d like to check if you injured yourself.” Dean nods but has to close his eyes while Cas gently checks him over. He’s feeling confused and achy and he longs for Cas to help Dean to bed and hold him.

When Cas declares him injury free, Dean lifts his arms. Immediately, Cas and Eileen spring into action, lifting him up and each putting one of Dean’s arms over their shoulders. They take him to his bedroom and help him sit on the edge of his bed.

Ducking down to search his eyes, Eileen asks, “Do you need anything else?”

Dean shakes his head and signs _thank you_ to her. She offers him a gentle smile and rubs his back. The touch is good and warm and Dean’s overcome by the wish that she would hug him.

“Of course, Dean. Get some rest!” She lets go of him and leaves. Dean is relieved and disappointed at once. If his head wasn’t hurting already, he’d really have liked to punch himself in the face for being so embarrassing and stupid. 

“Do you need help getting undressed?” Cas asks, though he must already know the answer. Dean doesn’t let him help with this anymore unless the seizure was bad enough it leaves him no choice. 

Dean shakes his head.

“Okay.” For an awkward moment, Cas just stands there. “Well, um. I’ll go get you some water.” 

He leaves, and Dean clenches his jaw against the stab of pain that goes through his heart. His movements sluggish and his limbs feeling heavy as lead, Dean peels himself out of his clothes at a snail’s pace until he’s down to his tee and underwear. He shoves the pile of clothes off the bed and down onto the pillows arranged around it for protection. Then he crawls under the covers and lies down.

Cas returns, obviously having taken extra long to make sure Dean got the privacy he’d asked for. 

“Do you need the water now?”

Dean shakes his head.

Cas sets the glass down on the nightstand and then hesitates. He’s making that sad teddy bear face, and Dean already knows that whatever Cas asks, Dean’s going to have a tough time saying no.

“Dean, can I… can I just sit here until you fall asleep? Just to—to make sure.”

So far, Dean’s never had a seizure two times in a row—which, yeah, would be bad. But it hasn’t happened. And even if it did, the sensor would alert Cas anyway. And Cas knows that and he knows that Dean knows he knows. 

There it is though—the sad teddy bear. Dean sighs and scoots backwards to one side of the bed.

Away from Cas.

“Thank you.” 

Cas turns off all the lights except one bedside lamp and sits down on the free side of the bed. 

Dean closes his eyes. He’s dead tired but he can already tell he won’t fall asleep easy. His body is aching inside and out and Cas is so close. If Dean asked to be held—to be comforted, to be soothed—then Cas would do it, no questions asked. But Dean is Dean, and Dean is a coward. And weak. He can barely hold back the _monster_ anymore these days. Every time Cas touches him, it comes out, and he just can’t stop it. 

Dean’s eyes are burning and not with fatigue. Rolling onto his other side so his back is to Cas, he holds his breath and bites his lip until the tide of sadness and shame settles. He curls his fingers into the cold sheets and clings so tightly his joints ache.

Cas shifts on the bed and then there’s the sound of him quietly picking up a book and slowly turning the pages. A tear escapes Dean’s tightly shut eyes and drips down his cheek to fall soundlessly onto the bed and disappear.

The _monster_ came for the first time after they’d kicked Chuck’s butt with Amara’s help and released his godly ‘spark’ or whatever into the world, rendering the position of God obsolete. In the resulting relief, in the joy of having Cas back with them, Dean had let his guard down. His family was finally safe and happy and at peace. It just fucking figured that all the crap in Dean’s mind that he’d been keeping a tight lid on before chose that moment to crawl its way to the surface like some nightmarish deep sea creature.

He’d been in the Cave with Cas, complaining about how Sammy was super wrong about _Bandidas_ because it was an awesome movie, thank you very much. 

Halfway through his passionate ranting, he’d become aware of the way Cas was looking at him—like Dean was doing or saying something amazing, instead of boring Cas with more cowboy trivia. Confused, Dean had paused, and then Cas had taken his hand.

“Dean,” he’d said, with such gravity, like they were standing at the altar about to say their vows. “I would like to kiss you. May I?” 

Instantly, Dean’s heart had jumped into his throat and got stuck there, heavy and hot like a heated stone. Mutely, he’d managed a tiny nod. 

When he’d found Cas in the Garden—or inside the Occultum, or on Neptune; Dean still didn’t completely understand where they had been, just that it hadn’t been the Empty, even though that was where Cas had said he’d go. When he’d found Cas—when he’d run to him, had reached for him, when he’d told him “Me too, Cas. Always”. They’d held each other tightly, they’d smiled at each other through tears, but they hadn’t kissed. 

Alone together in the Cave, Cas cupped Dean’s face in one hand, one thumb stroking the skin under Dean’s eye. Even that soft touch was almost too much already, sending Dean’s heart racing and his skin prickling. Dean didn’t know what to do with his own hands and felt like the clumsiest person alive. Like he was going to fall apart any moment because he’d been wanting this so long. 

Leaning forward, Dean closed his eyes when their mouths met. He could feel his own lips tremble, could feel his eyes burn with the intense wave of emotion that crashed over him. One kiss turned into two, into three, chaste but already more than Dean felt he could handle. 

The hand cupping Dean’s cheek slid into his hair, petting it. Overwhelmed, Dean broke away from the kiss and leaned his cheek against Cas’s. He only then realized that at some point he’d grabbed Cas’s arms, that his fingers were buried into the fabric there, desperately holding on. 

His heart was still racing. His mouth still tingling. He felt happy and excited like a kid with a crush. He felt like laughing and smiling and crying all at once. He’d _kissed_ Cas. Cas had kissed him. 

Cas _wanted_ him. 

Not seeming to mind Dean’s clinginess or his quiet, Cas just held him, just let him lean against him and sort himself out. 

Their little bubble finally got broken by Sam walking into the Cave and then stopping short. “Hey, have you—oh. Oh crap, sorry guys.” 

Disentangling himself from Cas, Dean got his first good look at him. Cas’s eyes were shining wetly and he looked ruffled and adorable and proud. He shot Dean a shy but happy smile, and Dean found himself mirroring it. 

“It’s alright, Sam,” Cas had said. “What do you need?” 

Predictably, Sam needed Cas’s help with something boring.

“I’ll be right back,” Cas had said, squeezing Dean’s hand and then walking after Sam out of the room. 

And it should have been fine. But mere seconds later, Dean’s heart had started beating faster and faster and not for fun reasons this time. Suddenly, everything felt weird. Panic clawed at his lungs—he felt funny every time before a seizure, but not like this. Not all slimy inside and out. Not guilty like he’d just done something wrong. 

When Cas came back, Dean had only marginally managed to calm down. Confused and ashamed though he didn’t know why, Dean claimed to be tired and headed to bed early. Cas wished Dean good night and squeezed his shoulder before heading back to the library. Dean lay in bed wide awake for two hours, unable to calm down after realizing that he didn’t know if the touch had felt good or bad. 

The hot prickling behind his eyes finally spilled over, but Dean angrily wiped the tears away. Cas had just kissed him and Dean had wanted it and now he was laying there crying about it? That would hurt Cas so bad if he knew. Cas deserved better.

Curling up in a ball, Dean had shoved all those ugly, confusing feelings and sensations back down. His family was finally happy and safe and Dean intended to keep it that way. 

Maybe he and Cas could just take it slow. Maybe Dean just needed time. 

Tugging the blankets up higher over his back, Dean huddled into them for warmth, huddled into them and hid himself.

Getting dressed in the morning is hard because after a seizure it takes a long time for him to stop feeling so drained, but Dean manages. Now, he is carefully pouring coffee into his thermos. It’s only five am, but then again Dean went to bed at like nine last night. And the dreams he woke up from—dreams that seemed to have crawled straight out of the old memory hole—made him not want to even try and sleep more. 

A while ago, Stevie approached Dean and asked for help with her car. It was given to her as a gift from a family for saving their kids from being drowned by a spirit, but she hasn’t had the time for all the necessary upkeep. So now Dean’s got a gorgeous ‘65 Ford Thunderbird to play with.

In the garage, Dean smoothes a hand over Baby’s hood so she knows she’s still his number one. Then he gets his tools and his creeper and rolls himself under the Thunderbird’s belly.

Nothing gets Dean’s mind calmer and lets him forget about crap like getting his hands busy. He takes sips from his thermos every time he starts to feel overly tired, but otherwise keeps going until there’s a hesitant knock on the roof of the car. 

Rolling himself out, Dean blinks against the light.

“Hey kid, what’s up?”

Jack is holding a stack of papers and a pencil and looks frustrated. 

“Can you help me with my math homework? I thought I understood, but then I… didn’t.” Jack glares at the papers like they called him a dummy and stole his lunch money.

Dean has to suppress a smile. Now that they all have more down-time, Cas and Sam have started home-schooling Jack so he learns something besides hunting. Jack is like a sponge for knowledge, so when something eludes him he easily gets worked up about it. It reminds Dean a lot of Sammy as a kid.

If Jack had asked Dean about stuff like history or literature, he’d probably have pointed him to someone else, but math? Math Dean can do.

Dean’s muscles complain and his knees crack when he gets up. “Gimme a sec.” He cleans his hands at the sink but some grime remains under his fingernails, black and distracting. Dean frowns at it and then rips his gaze away and tells himself to get a grip.

There’s a fold-up camping table and some chairs in the corner of the garage that Dean carries over so they can work comfortably. Jack spreads his papers over the smooth white plastic surface and explains at which point he got stuck. 

Dean walks him calmly through the steps and they solve the problem together and then Jack tries the next one on his own. They’ve solved five problems out of ten and Dean’s showing Jack a trick how to solve them faster when they’re interrupted by the kid’s stomach growling.

Checking his watch, Dean sees it’s past lunchtime and now that he thinks about it, he’s starving.

“C’mon, can’t do math on an empty stomach.”

They relocate to the kitchen. Surveying their options, Dean gets the rest of last week’s tomato soup out of the freezer and makes some grilled cheese to go along with it. It’s not exactly a lot of work, but Jack wants to help anyway. They stand shoulder to shoulder at the stove, and then sit down at the table to enjoy their spoils.

Ever since Dean herded Cas and Jack into the library and had them put their names down on the table— (“But Dean, that’s for your family.” - “Yeah, exactly.”)—something seems to have settled between him and Jack. He no longer looks at Dean as if desperate for something he can’t give a name to. Instead—

Bent over his bowl of soup, it takes Dean a moment to realize Jack is looking at him.

“Are you feeling better? Cas said… Cas said it wasn’t a bad one.”

He says the last part almost pleadingly, worry clear on his face and in his voice. 

The first and so far only time Jack has seen Dean have a seizure it disturbed him so deeply that they decided to try and keep him away whenever it happened. Last night, Cas and Eileen came to Dean’s help while Sam stayed with Jack. It’s not unusual for Jack to come seek Dean out after though.

“Yeah, well… he’s right. Just needed some sleep.” Dean offers Jack a reassuring smile but the kid still looks uncertain. Dean sighs. “Jack… it’s not your job to worry about me. I’ve got Sam and Eileen and Cas looking after me. You trust them to do a good job, right?”

A little grudgingly, Jack nods.

"See? Now, c'mon," Dean gently nudges Jack's leg under the table with his foot. "Eat your lunch."

When they're done, Dean does the cleanup while the kid finishes his math assignment. By the time Dean's drying his hands on a dish towel, all the problems are solved and Dean gives them a quick once-over. 

“Looks good, buddy.” 

Jack looks up at him with a smile and a shine to his eyes.

“Thank you, Dean. You’re really good at this.”

Uncomfortable with the praise, Dean tries to laugh it off. “Hey, I’m no Will Hunting but math I can do ok.”

What happens next happens so fast Dean has no chance to dodge—Jack gets up from the table and then he’s hugging Dean. 

Heart skipping a painful beat, Dean goes tense all over before his brain has even fully caught up with events. He’s about to gently dislodge Jack when he realizes that Jack’s hands are bunched into Dean’s flannel at his back, that the kid is hiding his face in Dean’s chest. 

Like a switch getting flipped, the way the kid clings to Dean activates whatever caretaking abilities are buried within him. His muscles relax, his heart beat becomes steady. His arms come up around Jack and hold him close; one hand rubbing over the kid’s back and the other cupping the back of his head.

Warm, hitched breaths puff wetly against Dean’s chest. At his back, he can feel the kid’s fingers tremble.

Leaning his head against the top of Jack’s, Dean holds him tighter. Holds him for as long as he needs.

Dean hasn’t seen Cas all day. He was gone when Dean woke up in the morning, left at some point during the night to give Dean the “space” he’d asked for. 

Now, Dean’s in his Cave—he’d meant to go watch something but found himself unable to settle on anything. He’s been kind of just sitting in the armchair, staring at the huge black screen of the TV.

There’s a knock on the doorframe. “Dean?”

It’s Cas.

It takes some effort, but Dean manages to arrange his features into a smile. “Hey, what’s up?” 

“Jack and I are leaving tonight after dinner. I thought we could um, spend some time together before then.” 

Dean swallows. Cas is leaving. “Sure.” Dean inclines his head towards the TV. “Wanna watch somethin’?” 

He lets Cas pick. They’re twenty minutes into _Rain Man_ when Dean realizes that he never got beer and snacks, which he always does. He’s not hungry or thirsty though. He kind of just wants to sit here with Cas. It’s the closest he can get to him. 

Dean thinks he’s watching the movie, but he must get lost in his head instead, or maybe in focusing too much on trying to enjoy Cas’s nearness. There’s a tentative touch to his arm, really just a grazing of fingertips, but he flinches anyway.

“Dean, are you alright?” Cas looks concerned and sad. Dean wants to offer him a reassuring smile, but it slips off his face before it’s even fully formed.

He shrugs with one shoulder and drops his gaze down to his hands, plays with his fingers.

“Gonna be. Just uh, need time.” 

“Yes, you’ve said so,” Cas agrees tentatively. He sounds like he’s trying not to spook Dean. “But Dean, you know you can talk to me. I wish—I want to help you, but I can’t if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

There’s a lump in Dean’s throat, heavy and acidic. He _wants_ help. But— 

Cas must read something in Dean’s silence because he continues, his voice gentle like he thinks one wrong word will shatter Dean like glass. “Is it the seizures?”

Dean shakes his head.

“Something else related to Michael?”

Turning his head away, Dean licks his lips. Finally nods. His heart is racing.

“Dean, it’s not your fault what he did. No one blames you.” Cas has told him this before. The others have too. “I promise you he’s gone,” Cas adds when Dean doesn’t say anything. “He’s gone and he can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

Dean does know. He nods again.

“Is there something else about it that’s troubling you?”

Cas sounds like he really wants to know, and Dean does really want to tell him. But the truth is too terrible. Too damning. He can’t say it. 

Dean picks at his nails as if his heart isn’t trying to punch itself out of his ribcage, as if he’s calm when actually his voice box aches like he’s been screaming. 

“It’s okay,” Cas says, even though he too must know it’s not. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

They fall into an uncomfortable silence. Dean only now realizes that Cas muted the movie at some point. He’s not really interested in watching it anyway. He’d rather talk to Cas, because he misses that and Cas is leaving tonight.

“Tell me ‘bout you guys’ super secret project. How’s it going?” 

Cas’s expression of concern melts into one of joy, his eyes shining with pride. “It’s almost finished. I actually think tonight is the last time we’ll have to go to heaven for now. It’s…” Cas trails off, seeming to try and find the right words. 

“I didn’t tell you what it’s about right away because I wasn’t sure if we’d even succeed. But now—” He finds and holds Dean's eyes. “We remade heaven, Dean. With Jack’s help, I was able to completely restructure it. The souls are free now instead of trapped in their memories. I think the next time you’re there,” his voice catches on what that implies, “you will enjoy it a lot more.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say. He’d tried not to dwell too much on whatever Cas was doing in heaven, too scared that Cas would decide to stay after all no matter his promises. 

“I don’t—” It sounds too good to be true. “How?” 

Cas huffs a breath of laughter. “I think the metaphysics of it would bore you. It actually wasn’t that difficult, just… time-consuming.” There are tears brimming on Cas’ lower lids. “You’ll be with all your loved ones. Forever. I promise you no matter what happens, you won’t be alone.”

Dean’s own vision is swimming. Ignoring the consequences, he reaches out for Cas’s hand. 

“Cas… you’ll be there too?” Dean’s so choked up he barely recognizes his own voice, but he doesn’t even care.

Cas holds Dean’s hand in both of his, squeezes his fingers. Gives him a happy, watery smile, “Of course, Dean.”

Distantly, Dean’s aware he’s crying. He wants to kiss Cas. Torn between conflicting instincts, he reaches forward and draws him close, draws him into a hug instead. It’s awkward with the armrests of the chairs between them, but Cas doesn’t seem to care either. He clings back just as tightly. Their hearts thump against each other. Dean’s skin erupts in goosebumps with how good-bad the touches are, but he stubbornly holds on.

When they finally let go, they both wipe at their eyes and give each other shy smiles. Cas turns the sound on the movie back on. He hovers his hand over Dean’s, asks with his eyes for permission. Dean knows he’ll regret it later, but he turns his hand over in invitation, lets Cas lace their fingers together. 

Dean’s pretty sure neither of them actually absorbs anything that’s happening on the screen. At some point, Cas draws Dean’s hand into his lap, strokes a thumb soothingly over the back of it, over Dean’s fingers. Dean shivers with it, his heart stutters. It feels so good. It feels so wrong.

The credits are rolling when there’s a knock on the doorframe.

“Sorry guys,” Eileen says, looking apologetic at interrupting them. “Cas, we need an emergency translation.”

“Of course,” Cas says and signs, giving her a smile. “I’ll be right there.”

She gives him a thumbs up and walks back towards the library. 

“Do you want to come with?” 

Dean shakes his head. He looks at his watch for good measure and hopes he sounds convincing when he says, “Think I’ll go get dinner started.”

Cas looks at him with soft eyes, like that was somehow a profoundly romantic statement. He squeezes Dean’s fingers one more time, then puts Dean’s hand down on the armrest so gently that Dean knows it’s going to hurt extra hard in a few moments.

“I’ll see you later, then.”

“Sure, Cas.”

The moment Dean can’t hear Cas’s footsteps anymore, he hightails it to his room and locks the door.

His heart is already racing and it’s only bound to get worse. Dean’s body has realized by now that Cas has left them. The good-bad touches are gone, and even though Dean knows it’s irrational, his body is once again pretty damn sure that no one is ever going to touch them again. It doesn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified about that and the solution seems to be to make Dean feel like he’s dying.

Dean paces through his room and wrings his hands and tries to keep himself from hyperventilating. His throat is tight and his eyes are burning. When his knees go weak and spots start dancing in his vision, he shakily manages to sit down on his bed. Shivers racing up and down his back, he hits a fist against his chest, trying to force his lungs into remembering what it is they’re supposed to do. 

He gasps every time he breathes in and his cheeks are wet and he knows the despair he feels is stupid and senseless but he just can’t stop it. The _monster_ in Dean doesn’t care that Cas is just down the hall, that Cas’s touches are safe and that _it_ —that _Dean_ —that _they_ can have touches again. It wants the touches _now._ It wants Cas to never leave Dean’s side ever. It wants Dean to claw off their dirtied skin and never have them be touched ever again. It wants to kill everyone that’s ever put a hand on them, no matter how gentle it was.

Dean’s fingers dig into the skin right under the scar left by the spear, but he manages to hold back and not hurt himself.

Slowly, the tide of panic ebbs and his heart slows and he can breathe again. In its wake though, he feels like there’s a layer of grime all over him. 

It’s just cold sweat, probably. He’s not really dirty. 

Getting up on shaky legs, Dean digs through his drawer for a towel and after making sure the coast is clear, sneaks into the showers. 

He’s halfway through dinner prep when Eileen joins him.

“Can I help?” She asks. “Charlie has found some kind of obscure artifact and Sam and Cas are geeking out over it. I think they didn’t even notice when I left,” she adds with an affectionate eye-roll. 

“Sure,” Dean says and signs. She comes to stand at his side at the counter and together they go to town on the potatoes, peeling and chopping. Dean’s feeling like it’s a creamy potato soup kind of night. Maybe with leek in it and some buttered bread to go with it.

“You smell good,” Eileen remarks, sniffing the air. “New soap?”

It actually is, because Dean’s been going through them so fast. He even had to go buy his own moisturizer instead of keeping on stealing Sam’s, because Sam would eventually have noticed. 

Dean shrugs, trying to make it look casual. Putting down the knife, he signs, _“Liked the smell.”_ It’s not a lie exactly. Dean did like the smell—cedar wood—and on the bottle it said that it helps soothe muscle aches, which Dean has all the time now, probably from being all tense. 

He’s still not really good at it, but something that Dean likes about signing is that he doesn’t have to talk out loud at all if he doesn’t want to. Plus, he just really likes talking to Eileen. She’s funny and smart and she can hold her own. Seeing her with Sammy makes Dean feel like he finally doesn’t have to worry so much about Sam’s future anymore. Especially now that her name’s etched on their family table too—that basically means forever. Right? 

Dean moves on to the leek while Eileen cleans up the potato peels and drags the biggest pot they own out of the cupboard. They chat idly while they work, and when the soup is bubbling on the stove, they move the cutting boards and knives to the sink to be washed with the dishes later. 

“Dean?” Eileen asks when Dean stirs the soup. “Are you alright?”

 _“Yes, why?”_ Dean signs and gives her his best confused look. 

“You’ve been kind of quiet. And like you’re in your head a lot,” Eileen explains, even her signing somehow as careful and gentle as her voice. 

_“Just in a…”_ Dean pauses, then finger spells the word he doesn’t know the sign for. _“F-u-n-k.”_

Eileen nods. “Is there a reason for it? Do you know?”

Does he?

Dean searches her eyes. He sees nothing but sincerity and compassion. Still, he spooks. Keeping his gaze on the soup he’s stirring, he shrugs one shoulder.

“That’s okay. Just wanted you to know that if you wanna talk, I’m here.”

Swallowing hard to keep the emotion that wants to spill out of his mouth and eyes contained, Dean nods. Eileen reaches out and squeezes his arm, her grip warm and strong. He only just manages not to tense up. When she lets go and moves to get out the cutlery, he takes a deep breath and blinks his eyes to keep them dry. 

Jack joins them and helps them set the table, and then they round everyone up for dinner. Cas sits so closely beside Dean that they rub shoulders constantly, and Dean barely manages to eat, it's so distracting. 

Across from them, Sam and Eileen are openly holding hands on the table. Sometimes they let go to take a drink or to sign something that requires both hands, but then they always go right back to it. 

Watching them, Dean feels like he's got _coward_ stamped on his forehead. _Failure._ And the worst is, his family doesn't even know. Doesn't see it. There's an invisible yet solid wall separating Dean from them, and he just pretends like he belongs. They deserve better.

“Dean? Don’t you want to finish?”

Belatedly, Dean realizes that everyone’s already done with dinner while he still has half a bowl of soup and almost all of his bread left. At some point, he stopped eating his food and just stared at it while he played with his spoon. The soup tasted good but it’s probably cold by now and he doesn’t feel like eating anyway. Sam is collecting their dishes so Dean shoves his bowl towards him.

“Are you sure?” Eileen asks. “I can reheat it for you.”

Dean can reheat his own damn food. He _knows_ it’s a kind offer, and that Eileen’s just trying to be nice. He doesn’t get why it makes him so angry. Not trusting himself to speak, he just shakes his head, jaw clenched.

“Dude, are you okay?” Sam is holding Dean’s bowl and is frowning down at it and then at him. “You weren’t at breakfast either. And this is still half-full.”

Biting his tongue _hard,_ Dean manages not to yell at Sam to mind his own damn business.

“We ate lunch together though,” Jack pipes up, looking confused at the sudden tension. “Me and Dean. He ate just as much as me.” 

Sam seems unconvinced and he’s still holding Dean’s stupid bowl. Cas is looking at Dean with worry. “Are you nauseous?” He asks, already reaching to touch Dean’s head with two fingers. “I can—”

Dean recoils and then his control snaps.

He’s _slapped_ Cas’s hand away before he’s even realized he’s moved. From one moment to the next, all he can feel is rage _._

“I’m not _hungry!_ Get it through your fucking heads and leave me _the fuck alone!”_

Dean didn’t even mean to yell, didn’t mean to say anything at all, but now he’s yelling. Everyone flinches, probably because he’s barely said anything all night and now he’s biting their heads off. They’re staring at Dean like Dean’s punched them in the face. Instantly, Dean’s body and mind do a 180 and his boiling anger turns into horror at himself. 

Hurriedly pushing away from the table, Dean somehow manages to stalk out of the kitchen before anyone can even say anything even though he can’t breathe and his knees feel like jelly.

He’s behind Baby’s wheel and they’ve torn out of the bunker by the time Dean remembers that it’s really risky for him to be taking drives by himself now. Especially when it’s dark and rainy and stormy outside. He needs to soothe the _monster_ though, before it hurts anyone else. 

Half an hour into his drive, his phone starts buzzing. It stops when the call goes to voicemail, then starts up again right after. Dean pops a tape into the deck and cranks up the volume.

A part of him wants to hold onto his anger, but it flows out of him with every mile Baby eats up. Shame fills the empty space it leaves behind, leaving him with heartburn and a persistent prickling heat behind his eyes. His phone has gone silent. 

Slowing down, Dean parks Baby at the side of the road, leaving her in idle. Her headlights cut through the dark and illuminate the field in front of him, corn stacks moving in the wind like a storm-tossed sea.

Dean takes out his phone and stares at the dark screen, thumb hovering over the button that will make it light up. What if this is it? What if he’s made Cas so mad he’s broken up with Dean over text? What is Dean going to do then?

Rain splatters against the windshield and the storm howls. 

So much for _most loving man I will ever know._ Dean’s just an asshole that yells at his family when they worry about him. A man that doesn’t let his partner near him and lies to him about the reasons why. 

He can blame Michael all he wants, but Dean’s the one who said Yes. He’s the one who was too weak-willed to push Michael out, the one that didn’t even notice he was still possessed and was being spied on. 

Dean pushes the button. The screen lights up.

_2 missed calls from: Sam, Cas_

_4 missed messages from: Sam, Cas_

He checks Sam’s first, but Sam is just asking him to stop driving and call him back. Heart in his throat, Dean clicks on Cas’s.

_ >Dean what happened? _

_ >Please call me back. _

_ >Jack and I need to leave now. We should be back in two days at most. I would like it if we could talk then. _

Okay, that’s… Dean doesn’t know. ‘Talking’ could still mean break-up. 

The thought is followed by a wave of panic so strong, Dean has to open the door on his side and breathe in the cold air for a moment, he’s that dizzy. Rain hits him in the face like sea spray, like he’s driven Baby straight into an ocean. The shock of it helps though, and when he closes the door again he at least feels alert and in control enough to drive back home.

Whatever ‘talking’ means, Dean’s got to face it eventually. He’s still mostly a coward though, so he texts Cas _okay see you then,_ even though Cas is probably in heaven already and won’t even see it for days. Then he sends a _coming back home_ to Sam, and gets an _okay_ back a mere three seconds later. He’s definitely in for a lecture, but all of a sudden he feels so tired and hollow that he doesn’t even care.

Putting Baby back in drive, Dean turns her around and points her home. He doesn’t bother putting any music on. Rain hits the windshield in waves, endless waves.

The first time Dean managed to claw his way through the black water and reach the surface, they were standing in front of a big mirror. Meticulously, Michael was stripping their body naked. Fabric slid over their skin and fell to the floor as more and more skin was revealed. When it was all gone, Michael inspected their body in the mirror. When Michael noticed Dean was there, their mouth smiled at Dean’s horror.

“This is a very pretty Sword,” Michael said with their voice. He ran one of their hands down their chest and watched in the mirror, enjoying the way Dean recoiled and almost sank back into the water. Their hand brushed against their genitals and Dean wanted to throw up but couldn't. With cold detachment, Michael inspected their penis while Dean fought and fought and only managed to inhale water. 

Cocking their head to the side when he noticed the bow in their legs, Michael ran a hand down their inner thigh. “Hm. A little unusual, but I don’t mind.” 

Michael re-dressed them, but in different clothes. He could just snap his fingers and get it over with, but he took his time with every single piece. Like sliding a treasured sword back into an expensive sheath, Michael caressed their fingers over the fabric, slowly slid the pants up their legs, the fine hairs there catching on the cloth. Dean gagged and a wave crashed over him. Mud and sea foam oozed down his throat, clogging it.

 _Get out._

He was sinking back down. He couldn’t breathe. Their _—his_ body was slipping away from him, while he slipped back under cold, black water.

“I _own_ you. So why don’t you hang on and enjoy the _ride?_ ”

By the time Dean parks in the garage, it’s almost 3 in the morning. If Sam was waiting up and tracking Dean’s phone, he’d be here already, so that means he must have gone to bed at some point.

Dean would have rather gotten it over with now, but then again, he has no idea what to even tell Sam. 

Feeling dead tired yet too wired to sleep, Dean wanders around until his feet carry him down to the swimming pool. 

They discovered it and got it running a couple months ago. Dean can only swim in the outer lane and when someone’s there to watch him, but he’s taken all of that in stride. He’d never known what a great stress relief swimming could be.

Since he’s alone now, he can’t go in, so he contends himself with sitting down at the edge and watching the water. He just needs to calm down a little, then he can go sleep. 

Cas never replied to his text, so he must be out of range in heaven already. Or maybe he's finally realized that he was wrong about Dean and that he isn't worth it after all. Dean always knew it was just a matter of time. 

Dean hopes they can at least go back to being friends though. He thinks he can learn to be okay with that, but he can't be okay completely without Cas. 

What if Cas was only staying with Dean out of obligation though? What if he was already unhappy and Dean just didn’t realize because he's been so selfish? 

He knows he would have noticed if he got another message from Cas, but he just—he just needs to check. To be sure.

His phone is in his pants pocket and he needs to lean to the side to get it out. His grip is so shaky that it slips through his fingers and slithers away over the tiles. With a bitten off curse, Dean twists even more to the side to reach it, and that's when he finally notices the warning signs his body is sending him.

_"No—"_

Desperately, Dean tries to crawl away from the edge, but it's too late. His control over his limbs is slipping away as they start to shake violently. The world tilts on its axis. For just a second, he's in free fall, and then icy cold water envelopes him and floods his mouth and takes his breath and freezes his heart. 

Lights flash painfully in front of his eyes and he doesn't understand where he is or what's happening anymore, just that it's the end.

 _Take care of Sammy,_ is the last thing Dean's able to think. Cas probably won't even hear it but Dean can't help himself. _I'm sorry. Please don't be mad._

He knows he won't see Cas again. Or any of them. There's no way he's going where Cas thinks he is. Not after everything he's done. 

It hurts so much. Dean begs for it to stop. The lights flash and flash and Dean's burning up from the inside. He's so cold and he can't think anymore. Agonizingly slowly, the light dims, the light fades away—

_“Even if you could force me out, what do you think I’d leave behind?” Michael’s eyes—Dean’s eyes—are blazing from the inside out with burning blue light. “You’d be nothing but blood and bone.”_

After the gorgon smashed Dean’s head into the doorframe and Michael escaped, Dean had at first refused to let Cas heal his head wound. Dean was the one who’d let his guard down, and the painful throbbing in his temples was the least he deserved for that. 

The pain got worse as they carried the bodies outside, as they collected wood for the pires. 

Smoke was billowing high in the sky, and Dean really wanted to be there for Sammy, but finally another dizzy spell forced him to his knees. He’d probably have fallen headfirst into the mud if Cas hadn’t suddenly been there, hadn’t steadied him and cupped his face.

“Dean, let me.”

In an instant, the pain was gone, and Dean had nodded his thanks at Cas. He’d still felt like crap, but when didn’t he?

There hadn’t been a lot of refugee hunters who were able to come at such short notice. Dean had stepped up to take care of the ones that did come, taking some of the weight off Sam’s shoulders. He’d been in the kitchen with two of them—Kit and Valerie, he learned later—getting some beer out of the fridge for them, when it happened for the first time.

From one moment to the next, he just felt—weird. Like his heart had stopped even though it hadn’t, like his body was floating away from him. The kitchen suddenly smelled like flowers. Distantly, he heard Kit ask if he was okay, and then Dean went down on one knee, and the lights in the kitchen turned painfully bright, and then he didn’t know anything anymore for a while.

He came to with his body hurting all over and his ears ringing with noise. After a while he realized the noise was not inside his head but was actually people yelling. Also he was laying on something soft but he couldn’t remember going to bed? What was going on?

It took enormous effort to open his eyes and his head was pounding. Was he hungover?

Slowly, his eyes focused on the ceiling above him. But the ceiling in his room didn’t look like this—where was he? 

Noticing movement to his right, Dean managed to turn his head a little bit. He saw other beds with white sheets—oh. He was in the infirmary. He was in one of the beds. And Cas—Cas was standing in front of it, his back to Dean, his angel blade in hand. There were other people—Sam. A few hunters that Dean vaguely recognized. And they were all yelling at the same time, and none of it made sense to Dean. He wished they would just go away and let him sort himself out in peace.

“—out of your _minds!”_ One of the hunters was screaming. _“_ He’s _still_ in there, I _saw_ it!”

“Valerie, listen to me—” That was Sammy. He sounded stressed.

“Out of my fucking way and let me end this once and for all!”

Cas growling, “I won’t let you near him.”

“Then you’re a traitor, _Castiel.”_

Were they threatening Cas and Sammy? Dean wanted to move, but it was so hard. Why was it so hard? What had happened to him?

Dean tried to roll over in bed to try and get up, and for some reason that only made the yelling worse.

“It’s him! I told you, I told—”

More people, and then the yelling gradually got quieter like the ones doing it were being dragged away. Dean blinked at it all in utter confusion, and then suddenly Cas was blocking his view.

“Dean?” 

Why did he sound so unsure? Who the fuck else would it be?

“Cas, is he okay?” Suddenly, Sammy was there, hovering over both of them where Cas had sat down at the edge of the bed beside Dean.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Dean slurred. Fuck, but he was so tired.

Sammy and Cas exchanged a look that Dean did not like at all.

“You had what we think was a seizure in the kitchen,” Cas said carefully, watching Dean with worry. “Dean, do you not remember?”

Heart rate rising with his anxiety, Dean mutely shook his head. Unable to keep himself up anymore, he let himself sink back against the pillows. “What…happened?”

He decidedly did not like the way they both hesitated. “We’re not sure yet,” Sam finally said. “But… your eyes flashed blue.”

Instantly, Dean had felt like he’d been dunked in ice water, like his heart had been put inside a vice. “Michael’s still—? He—”

Cas was quick to shake his head, holding his hands up to try and placate him. “Dean, no. I checked. If he was still there, I wouldn’t even be able to see inside your head. I swear to you he’s gone.”

Yeah, that was what they’d thought before too.

“Obviously there’s still some leftover grace inside of you,” Cas continued. “Theoretically, as you’re a vessel, it shouldn’t harm you. But it’s possible that whatever Michael did to ‘keep the door open’, has done something to you. Or it has something to do with you trapping him inside your mind and him violently breaking out. There’s—”

Panicked and confused, nothing really registered with Dean except ‘still inside of you’.

“Get it out.”

Cutting himself off, Cas gave Dean a worried look.

“Dean, in your condition—”

“Get it _out!”_

“Dean—!”

It was in him, it was alien and it was evil, and Dean couldn’t bear the thought of it living on under his skin. He tried to swing his legs off the bed but was still weak as a kitten and Sam and Cas held him back easy. 

“Dean, I just watched you seize on the kitchen floor and we still don’t know why!” Sam finally yelled over Dean’s continued protests. His eyes were shining wetly, the movements of his hands erratic as he gestured. “Excuse me if I don’t want to perform a highly dangerous, not to mention intensely painful procedure on you just now! Especially when we don’t know if it’ll fix anything or maybe even make it all worse!” 

Exhausted from his feeble attempts at escape, Dean sunk back against the pillows with a grimace. Sammy clearly didn’t get it, so Dean tried to catch Cas’s eyes. 

Cas looked at him with sympathy but he shook his head.

“Dean… you need rest. At least a day. Give us time to look into it first.”

Faced with their uncooperation, Dean had caved. He’d dealt with staying in the infirmary over night, with being checked on frequently, with slipping back into sleep constantly. 

He’d still been sore all over when Sam and Cas finally admitted that they hadn’t found anything in their research that would explain what happened to Dean. Apparently, Dean was an unprecedented case—which, awesome. Just what they needed. They’d just lost a whole bunch of good people, thanks to Dean no less. Jack had maybe just lost most of his soul to fix it.

They should’ve just booted Michael—Dean— _them_ to the bottom of the ocean and be done with it.

Dean lied back on the gurney and accepted the belt Sam handed him. Cas was already holding the syringe and was watching Dean with worry. 

“I really think we should wait.”

“Yeah, Cas, you’ve said.” 

Dean arranged his limbs on the gurney, put the belt in his mouth, and then motioned for Sam to hold him down.

Taking a deep breath through his mouth, Dean closed his eyes, then nodded. 

The prick of the needle hurt, and Dean expected the pain to stay in that area, but instead it exploded all over his body. It felt like someone was trying to rip every single bone out of him at once. He could no longer remember where he was or what was happening, just that he needed it to stop. 

There was a pressure holding him in place and he couldn’t escape. A bright light flashed in front of his eyes and then split apart into rapidly moving images. 

_Michael in a bar, looking at Dean condescendingly. “You don’t mean that Dean, not really. I know you. I_ am _you.”_

_Michael force-feeding someone blood from a glowing chalice. Michael standing in front of Dean at Naomi Plaza, smiling even as Dean pointed the spear at him. Michael in the bunker, slowly choking the life out of Dean._

_“You will be the first life I take in this world. The first soul I save.”_

_Dean himself, when he offered himself up._

_“I am your Sword.”_

Abruptly, the pain and the images stopped. Dean was wrenched out of the memories and came up panting and confused. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, for his body to remember that maybe his heart shouldn’t be beating this hard, that maybe he needed to breathe. His throat hurt. Had he been screaming? 

“Dean? Dean!”

Sam and Cas were hovering over him. Dean tried to say that he was okay and sent himself coughing instead. Carefully, Sam helped him sit up. Cas came to stand in front of him and Dean caught sight of the syringe, almost filled to the brim with swirling, glowing grace. The sight made Dean shiver. This had been inside of him the entire time, doing fuck knows what. 

“That all of it?” He croaked out. “It’s done?” 

The moment Cas hesitated and exchanged a look with Sam, Dean knew it wasn’t. 

“Again then.” 

He made to lie back down, already dreading what that meant. But Sam held him back, sputtering, “Are you out of your mind?! Dean, you only barely made it through this round! If we hadn’t stopped—”

Dean tried to get Sam off him but found himself too weak, which only pissed him off more. 

“I need it out! Now! All of it!” The thought of even a little bit staying inside him made him want to gag, made his hands itch to claw his skin off and dig it out of him himself.

“Dean, we can’t,” Cas tried to reason with him. “If we kept going, it would have killed you. I think we got most of it and the rest will fade over time.” 

A part of Dean didn’t understand why that wasn’t good enough for him. He felt like he was watching himself from a distance, not getting why he was acting the way he was but also unable to stop himself. 

“Then I’ll do it myself!”

He shoved Sam away and grabbed the syringe out of Cas’s hands, but he wasn’t fast enough. Before he could even get it anywhere near his neck, Sam had taken hold of his arms. 

“Dean, stop! You need to calm down!” 

Dean wanted to, he did, but he couldn’t. From far away, he watched himself yell and fight and kick out his legs until finally, Cas reached for him—”I’m sorry, Dean”—and then it all went black.

The next day, Dean had awkwardly apologized for his freak-out, not quite knowing what to say or how to even explain himself. He figured that it was over anyway—they had gotten most of the grace out, so that should mean no more seizures or whatever, right? And anyway, with the state of Jack’s soul up in the air, they had bigger fish to fry.

Except then it happened again.

It was weeks later and with everything that had gone down—their Mom being killed, Jack going darkside, Chuck revealing his true intentions—Dean had managed to put it out of his mind. All that mattered was killing Chuck, or caging him, or whatever it took so they’d finally be free of him.

Dean had been in the library, standing in front of a shelf and staring at the rows of lore books in utter frustration, when he suddenly realized he was smelling flowers. Turning around in confusion to try and locate where it was coming from, he started feeling strange, like he wasn't all the way inside his body anymore. By the time he remembered that he’d felt like this before, it was too late.

When his awareness returned, he was lying on his side on the floor, and Sam was crouching beside him. He was holding a bloody piece of fabric to Dean’s head and explained that Dean had hit his head on the shelf when he fell, except Dean didn’t remember falling at all. “You seized again,” Sam had said. “Dean, we can’t ignore this. We gotta have this checked out.”

All Dean had wanted was to sleep and forget about it all, but Sam had looked scared, so Dean had given in. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as quick as one single trip to a doctor’s office. There were questions, and tests, then more tests, and more questions. A lot of which Dean couldn’t even answer, because he wasn’t aware of what his body was doing when whatever it was happened. A part of him didn’t even want to know. Wanted to pretend none of this was happening. It was surreal, listening to Sam describe the way Dean’s limbs would shake and jerk, like he was talking about someone else, someone Dean didn’t know.

He listened dispassionately as the doctor explained to him about abnormal brain activity, about different types of seizures, about how for half the people with epilepsy, there was no identifiable cause. He was given a whole stack of glossy pamphlets that like half a rainforest had to die for, and a prescription for drugs that would cost them an arm and a leg if they didn’t have rigged credit cards.

The realization about how different his life was going to be from now on only set in slowly—he couldn’t drive on his own like this. He couldn’t hunt. He couldn’t fight. How was he going to protect his family from now on? Though, with Jack dead and Cas having left, his family really only was Sam. 

Sam, who was walking on eggshells around Dean, probably waiting for him to have a break-down or an angry explosion. Sam, who came home one day and presented Dean with what looked like one of those stupid smartwatches. “It’s called _Embrace2._ It’s a sensor that detects possible convulsive seizures and sends alerts to the phones it’s paired with. It provides GPS too, and it’s waterproof, and there’s an App that—”

Dean had listened but not quite known what to make of it all. As soon as they took care of Chuck, they could go look for a spell to fix Dean, right?

Except, Sam—Mr. Witch-in-training—had hesitated. “Look, Dean,” he’d said, sounding like he was carefully choosing each word. “We don’t know how long it’ll take to beat Chuck. We—I need a way to know when you need help and where you are when you need it. And I promise I’ll look into it, but a spell isn’t a magic fix.”

Dean had given him a look then, and Sam, realizing what he’d just said, had rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. Magic means equivalent exchange—there’s always a price. There’s side-effects. This is your _mind_ and your _brain_ we’re talking about messing with here. Forgive me for not wanting to play fast and loose with that.” 

And Dean got that, he did, but it all came back to one thing for him—how was he supposed to kick God’s ass and protect Sammy when he couldn’t even trust his own body not to fail him at any moment?

Ironically, it was Chuck of all people who made Dean think differently about it all.

“You know, I tried and I tried and I tried, but you're all just too stupid, too stubborn. Too _broken.”_ Chuck had looked at Dean then, contempt written all over his face. “Like you. You know, if you’d just done what you were supposed to, I’d maybe have shown mercy and snapped my fingers and _fixed_ you. But now? I’ll let you stay _damaged._ You’ll fit right in with Sam’s girlfriend then.”

It had taken Dean a moment to even understand what Chuck was talking about but then he wanted to punch him in the face all over again. 

“And believe me,” Chuck was still ranting, “this hurts me too! How am I supposed to deal with one of my favorite characters ending up _disabled?”_

Thoroughly unimpressed and disgusted, Dean had merely shrugged.

“Cope.”

In retrospect, he was kind of proud of that comeback, especially seeing how angry it had seemed to make Chuck. 

And though it didn’t happen at once, something about it changed Dean’s outlook on his situation. So when they neutralized Chuck, and the seizures were still there, he found that the anger and bitterness that he’d expected just didn’t come. Dean had everything he’d ever wanted and never thought he could get—Sam had Eileen, Dean had Cas, and they had Jack, and they were free. He was grateful for so much. Everything else, he figured, would just sort itself out. They could finally have peace.

Something is hitting Dean's chest. There's a burn inside him like fire and his throat is blocked. There's weird distorted noises like someone yelling at Dean underwater, yelling at him from far away. 

From one second to the next, Dean’s body convulses, and then he's being turned on his side just in time for him to vomit out like a lake's worth of water. He manages a few gasping breaths that burn going down like inhaling embers, and then more water comes up. What is happening?

He can hear voices, but he can’t make sense of what they’re saying. Hands seem to be touching him everywhere but he can’t even protest. He’s heaved up and carried. When he opens his eyes, everything is blurry and confusing. It hurts. It hurts inside, why aren’t they making it stop hurting?

“Dean? Can you hear me? I know it’s scary. Shhh, I know. We’re gonna get you help, okay?”

They put Dean down in a dark and soft place, and then the place starts to move even though Dean is lying on his side and is not moving. He drifts in and out of consciousness, not understanding anything that’s happening. Someone is sitting with him, holding him in place and talking to him softly, but he just wants to sleep. Why aren’t they just letting him sleep?

Suddenly, Dean is taken out of the nice, dark place and into a bright and loud place. There’s more people, more voices, and hands that want to do stuff with him. He doesn’t like it! Except then suddenly Sammy is there, and he’s asking Dean to please go along with it, that Dean needs help. Sam looks really pale and scared. Dean doesn’t really understand why, but it makes him stop fighting. 

It takes a while for him to become more coherent and realize he’s in the hospital. Most of his stay there is a blur, and he spends a lot of it sleeping. There was still some fluid in his lungs when he was admitted, and they had to get that out, and warm him up. He hit his arms and legs on the inside of the pool as he seized in the water, and while nothing’s broken he’s got some spectacular bruises. 

At some point, he can hear Sam talk with the doctor about which antibiotics are safe for Dean to take so they can prevent a lung infection. He falls asleep with a ventilator helping him breathe and then it’s gone when he wakes up.

They keep him in for observation until the next day, and the entire time Dean expects Sam to start yelling at him at any moment, but he never does. Dean figures that means Sam is really, _really_ mad at him and is saving the explosion for when they’re at home so as to not cause a scene.

The drive home is mostly silent. Eileen chats with Dean about off-topic stuff but he’s too tired to talk much and just wants to get the inevitable fight with Sam over with. 

When they’ve trudged down the stairs in the bunker and entered the war room, Eileen briefly draws Dean into a hug. It’s warm and gentle and Dean’s still aching all over and can’t find it in him to refuse the comfort.

“Get some rest, Dean.” Then she kisses Sam on the cheek and makes her way down the hall to their rooms, clearly giving them space to talk.

Dean would rather stay standing, but he’s far too exhausted for that. He sits down in one of the chairs while Sam sits down at the edge of the table. 

“Dean—”

“Come on, out with it. You wanna yell at me, just do it.”

Sam sighs. 

“I’m not gonna yell. Okay? I just want you to listen to me, please Dean?” 

Something about the urgency in Sam’s voice is even worse than if he were angry and yelling.

“I’m not even gonna say anything about you driving on your own when you know how dangerous that is. I get that you miss it, okay? And I’ve told you that we’re looking into ways to make it safer for you and that I need you to have some more patience.” Mutely, Dean nods. Sam takes a breath and Dean braces himself. 

“But Dean, what were you doing that close to the pool? Do you have _any_ idea,” Sam’s voice begins to shake and Dean feels his own throat close up when he sees the way Sam’s eyes shine wetly, “what it was like to find you like this? To pull your _seizing_ body from the water and have _no idea_ how long you’d already been under? To realize you’re not breathing? To be doing CPR and emergency breaths and have no idea if it’s already too late and you’re _gone_ already?”

Unable to keep looking at him, Dean drops his gaze down to where he’s anxiously playing with his fingers in his lap. 

“I’m sorry, Sammy.”

He can hear Sam sniff and then a noise like Sam’s rubbing a hand over his face.

“I don’t want an apology from you, Dean. Look, I know you didn’t do it on purpose. That’s not—” Sam cuts himself off, takes an audible breath. “I need you,” he continues, putting force behind each word, “to take better care of yourself.” 

Having expected the conversation to go kind of differently, Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. 

Sam continues, “Look, something’s been going on with you for weeks, but I didn’t think it was this serious. When you came to me and asked if we could postpone the beach thing, I thought it was just that. That you just needed some downtime. But obviously it was something else, something that led to _this—_ you almost _drowned,_ Dean. So please—can you just tell me?”

Dean licks his lips. He gets where Sam is coming from. But he, he can’t.

“Does it have something to do with Cas? With Chuck? With Mi—”

Dean sucks in a breath. “Please stop asking. I get it, okay?” Sam has fallen silent. Dean turns his head away and rapidly blinks his eyes. “I’ll be more careful. I promise. But I can’t—”

He trails off and bites his tongue hard against the tears that threaten.

Silence stretches for a moment. When Sam starts talking again, his voice is gentle, sympathetic. “Do you think you can talk with Cas about it instead?”

Dean sniffs and huffs. “If he still wants anything to do with me…”

“Cas isn’t mad at you.” When Dean makes a disbelieving face, Sam adds, “Well yeah, he is, but.” He pauses. “Dean, do you remember that you prayed?” 

That finally makes Dean look up.

“What? When?”

“When you fell into the water I guess? Cas immediately left heaven so he could call me. I couldn’t answer because we were busy with you already by then, so I called him back while we drove to the hospital. Judging from what he said, you thought you were _dying._ Dean, you really scared him. If whatever they were doing hadn’t meant that Jack couldn’t leave heaven at that moment, they’d have left right then and there.”

Dean needs a moment to absorb that. He can’t remember praying at all, but he does remember his fear when he realized that he wouldn’t be able to get away from the edge of the pool fast enough. 

“Cas said they should be back by tonight,” Sam continues after a moment. “Please just—try, okay? I don’t… I don’t want to find you like this again if we can help it. Okay?”

Dean nods, and then when they stand he accepts the hug Sam draws him into. 

The _monster_ in Dean wants to shove Sam away and cling to him tighter. And Dean is so tired of it. He really hopes that Sammy is right and Cas really is still willing to listen. Where Dean wanted to hide himself before, he’s starting to become desperate to be seen. 

Sam and Eileen make dinner—brown rice and a stir-fry with far too many vegetables in it for Dean’s taste. He eats as much of it as can manage though. As weird as it feels not to be the one cooking, he can appreciate the gesture and the help. He’d have been far too drained to cook, especially for all three of them.

He gets ready for bed, though he fully intends to wait up for Cas. Leaving the door ajar and the lamp on the bedside table on, he lies down and waits.

Despite all the sleeping Dean had already done at the hospital, he must drift off at some point. He’s startled awake by soft noises in the hallway—low voices, and then a door closing, and then footsteps that falter as they come close. 

Dean pushes himself up into a sitting position, blinking dazedly. “‘M awake,” he croaks. “You can come in.”

Cas looks rumpled and exhausted. He closes the door behind himself and sits beside Dean at the edge of the bed.

Like with Sam, Dean expects to be yelled at right away. Instead, Cas hesitantly reaches for him.

“May I…?”

The moment Dean nods, Cas folds him against his chest, holds him close. 

“You scared me, Dean.”

Burying his fingers in the back of Cas’s coat, Dean feels his own eyes grow wet at the waver in Cas’s voice.

“I’m sorry.”

When he draws back from the hug, Cas checks him over, stroking a gentle hand over a band aid covering a bruise on Dean's arm. Then he looks up and searches Dean's eyes. 

"Dean… what happened? I just… I want to understand."

Cas is looking confused and worried and hurt. 

Dean opens his mouth, desperate to explain—no words come out. Panic starts to make his heart race and his skin feel hot and cold all over. If he can’t talk, Cas won’t understand. Cas will leave.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion combined with the fear, or maybe Dean’s just an overly emotional wreck of a human being, but instead of starting to talk, Dean starts to cry.

Ashamed, he tries to turn away but Cas isn’t having it.

“Dean, what’s happening?” Cas sounds like he’s scared too. He’s reaching for Dean again, and even though Dean knows it will probably make everything worse, he lets himself fall into Cas’s arms. Cas rubs soothing hands over Dean’s trembling back through his tee, and it coaxes the sobs out of Dean that he was trying hard to hold back. It’s so humiliating, and he hadn’t meant to be such a burden, but now that the floodgates have started to open, Dean doesn’t know how to close them again. Tears make burning trails down his cheeks and his throat is on fire. The pain inside that he’d tried so hard to carry alone is pouring out of him.

“It’s okay,” Cas keeps saying. “It’s okay.” 

It’s not okay. Cas shouldn’t have to deal with this. Not after Dean lied to him for so long.

Slowly, the tears ebb. But Dean’s body is starting to become aware that they’re being held and caressed and Dean can feel _it_ coming, rising up in all its ugliness. He wants it gone. It’s so shameful and disgusting, why can’t it just go away?

“Dean, you’re shaking.” Cas tries to maneuver Dean to get a look at him but Dean only clings tighter, hiding his face in Cas’s shoulder like a stupid kid. If Cas looks at him then he will see _it._ He’ll see who Dean truly is. 

Cas gives up trying to move Dean and goes back to stroking a hand over Dean’s back and his hair. “Please talk to me. I don’t… I don’t know what to do, Dean.”

Cas sounds scared. Dean is scaring him. Because Dean…

“I lied.” 

Dean’s nose is blocked. He takes a shuddering breath in through his mouth, inhaling the scent of Cas’s shirt—warm cotton and the pine tree air freshener Cas keeps in his truck. 

“I said… I said I need time but. I lied.” Dean’s voice is a croak. It doesn’t even sound like him, but his cheeks heat with humiliation anyway. “Every time we—and then you leave. This happens.” 

Cas’s hands have come to a stop on Dean’s back. Dean tries not to panic.

“Do you mean,” Cas says at length, sounding utterly confused and dismayed, “that every time I’ve touched you like this… you had a panic attack after?”

Feeling like he’s about to choke on his shame, Dean nods against Cas’s shoulder. 

Instantly, Cas withdraws his hands. Dean’s heart feels like it breaks.

“Did I do something wrong? Did I—did I touch you when you didn’t want it?”

Cas sounds horrified at himself. Dean can’t let him think that way, so he forces himself to leave the shelter of Cas’s body and face him.

Shaking his head, Dean wipes at his cheeks and then makes himself meet Cas’s eyes. “No, I… I always want—And it’s so good, I swear, but then after, I feel…” Dean trails off, licking his lips and tasting salt. 

Cas is watching him, looking like he’s trying really hard to understand. “How do you feel, Dean?” He asks, gently. 

Dean swallows. Has to close his eyes. Fresh tears wet his lashes. “Like—really alone. A-and…” His throat threatens to close at the word. He gets it out, but only in a whisper. “Dirty.” 

He’s aware he’s crying again but he keeps his eyes shut and his body tense and still. Cas sounds wrecked too when he asks, “Is it just me, or—”

Dean shakes his head. “Everyone.” His vision is swimming in tears when he looks at Cas, but suddenly he needs to see Cas seeing him. “Every time someone… and I don’t want it to stop, and at the same time I wanna punch them until they let go. I’m not safe to be around, Cas.” There it is, finally, the truth. “You saw it happen. There’s something in me that just—and it comes out, and I—and I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it.” Dean’s still crying but now he’s also breathing hard and shaking with an anger he can’t quite explain. 

Despite Dean’s words, Cas is looking at Dean with compassion, like he’s still seeing something completely different than what Dean is. Like he’s not getting at all that Dean isn’t the bright and loving being that he believed him to be.

“Dean… is this what you meant when I asked if it had something to do with Michael? Because what he did to you—”

“I said Yes, Cas,” Dean interrupts him, not understanding why he's so angry about it. A tear drops off his jaw and lands on his fist where it’s tightly clenched in his blanket. 

Instead of getting angry back, Cas calmly holds his gaze. “I think that sometimes, we’d rather have the guilt of believing we could have done something differently than have to face that we were powerless. And that’s what you were, Dean. You let him in because you were desperate, but that doesn’t mean you consented to what happened after.”

Dean angrily wipes at his cheeks again and says nothing. He knows Cas isn’t wrong, but he just…

Cas offers his hand to him in invitation. Hesitantly, Dean reaches back. Cas takes Dean’s hand in both of his and just holds it. 

“Dean… I know you feel that way right now, but none of what Michael did to you has ‘dirtied’ you in any way. I think you’re having trouble separating yourself from his actions and that makes you feel ashamed. This,” Cas gestures between the two of them, “is still very new. And combined with the bad experiences you recently had... It sounds like your body and mind are confused and don’t know what feels good or bad anymore. It’s understandable and I will never be mad at you for having an emotional reaction like this. Or for wanting, or not wanting, physical affection at any moment. You don’t need to hide this from me.”

It’s exactly what Dean didn’t even know he needed to hear, which is why he can only stare at Cas mutely. Cas is not mad? Even though Dean lied? Even though he's a mess?

He doesn’t know if Cas reaches for him or if Dean reaches for Cas, but suddenly he’s back in his arms. Being held again. His skin still gives the occasional shudder with how good-bad the touches feel, but the _monster_ is… different somehow. Dean doesn’t feel so out of control. Because Cas knows now, and he gets it. Cas looked at him and saw him and still holds Dean like this.

They stay like that for a while. Finally, Cas says, “Dean, when I heard your prayer… I knew something must have gone terribly wrong for you to be saying goodbye, and I… I was so scared. I didn’t want you to be alone and in pain when it… when it finally happened. And even though I knew you’d go to heaven, I really—I’d really like for you to have many more happy years on Earth first. So I need you to try and be more careful with yourself, Dean.”

Cas sounds like he’s pleading, and Dean feels himself getting upset along with him. Still—

“How?”

Cas starts stroking a hand down Dean’s spine again. “You’ve lost weight, and you’re not letting yourself have the rest you need. You try to be there and take care of everyone, but you’re not letting us take care of you. I know it’s a hard habit to break, but I’d like you to try. Try and be kinder to yourself, Dean. Try and think about what would make you happy, and then let yourself have it.”

Dean doesn’t know if he can do that, but Cas seems to think he can. Dean showed Cas his truth, and Cas stayed.

So, yeah.

Yeah, he’ll try. 

They’ve picked the perfect day—the sky is clear and blue, the waves calm. Despite the warmth from the sun, Dean still thinks it’s too early in the year to go swimming. The water is gonna be cold as fuck. That’s not stopping Sam, Eileen and the kid though, who are all already stripping off their clothes and can’t seem to wait to get into the ocean.

Dean isn’t ready for it yet, but that’s okay. 

He’s busy setting up a comfortable little nest for him and Cas inside their beach shelter to lounge in. They’ve got a cooler full of beer and an additional one filled to the brim with snacks. Dean even got Cas to wear a Hawaiin shirt to match his own.

“Dean, can you throw me the beach ball?” 

Locating it at the edge of their shelter, Dean tosses it to Eileen, who catches it easily. She gives him a thumbs up and then offers him a one-armed hug. After a moment of hesitation while he parses out if he wants it or not, Dean leans in. She squeezes him briefly and then lets go. “See you later!” 

“Kick Sam’s ass,” Dean says and signs. She laughs and nods, and then runs to where Sam and Jack are already wading into the waves.

Several months ago when Dean and Cas had their talk, Cas had stayed in Dean’s bed for the first time, holding him the entire night. Dean fell asleep in Cas’s arms, warmed and soothed, and woke up that way too. In the morning, Cas had confessed that he’d been thinking about what Dean had told him the entire night, and that he had an idea about how they could help Dean feel less out of control. 

With Dean’s permission, Cas talked with the others, and ever since then, everyone asks for permission before they touch Dean. It took Dean a while not to feel so awkward about it, or guilty whenever he refused. By now though, Dean can’t remember ever having gotten that much physical affection. 

Sometimes, the slimy, dirty feelings are still there. Dean never thought that simply having someone like Cas by his side, who knows about them and never pressures Dean to push through them, would be such a great relief.

Now, Dean sits back down beside Cas inside their shelter. Cas is reading a National Geographic article about one of those bizarro deep sea monsters—”Black sea devils are fascinating creatures, Dean”—so Dean helps himself to a beer and then watches the waves. There are some tiny, fluffy white clouds far away at the horizon. Other than that, the sky seems to flow directly into the ocean, they’re both so blue and calm. The waves are tiny and crowned with seafoam, and make such a soothing sound when they meet the sand of the shore.

Dean loses himself in the peace of it all, and so it takes him a while to realize Cas is watching him. 

Cas’s eyes are warm, his smile soft. He’s looking at Dean like he’s seeing something beautiful. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Feeling himself smile bashfully, even though it’s far from the first time that Cas has asked this, Dean sets his beer down in the sand. His heart feels light. He reaches for Cas first, taking his hand. Leaning towards each other, their mouths meet, gentle and careful. Dean presses closer and Cas presses back. A shiver races down Dean’s back but he doesn’t panic. He squeezes Cas’s hand. Cas squeezes back and intertwines their fingers. 

One kiss becomes two, and all Dean feels is that he’s being loved. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this was beta read by the lovely [Hope](https://highschccldropout.tumblr.com/), my biggest cheerleader <3 all remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> banner by me, logo dividers by [firefly-graphics](firefly-graphics.tumblr.com).
> 
> when i was a little further than halfway through with writing this fic, i started getting serious doubts. it's a deeply personal story, and i wasn't sure if what i wanted to convey was coming across. specifically, i hope the ending doesn't come across like i'm saying you can just love trauma away - rather, i wanted to show with this story what an important first step in healing it is to finally feel seen and understood. 
> 
> i did a lot of research for this fic, especially because i feared being unintentionally ableist. if you feel like i made a mistake somewhere, feel free to point it out! just be kind please.
> 
> it would mean a lot to me if you could leave me a comment (i always try my best to answer every one) and/or [reblog my fic on tumblr!](https://cuddlemonsterdean.tumblr.com/post/641225190083346432/like-the-storm-tossed-sea-a-dean-centric)
> 
> last but not least, i'm wishing everyone a happy It's-Dean's-Birthday day!!! 💚


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